


He's the Ink Under My Skin

by aflowerchildsdreams



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Tattoos, persuasive!harry, whiny!lou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:12:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aflowerchildsdreams/pseuds/aflowerchildsdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry wants Louis to get a tattoo. Louis will not be swayed, except, he totally will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's the Ink Under My Skin

He's The Ink Under My Skin

 

"Lou, come get a tattoo with me." 

He's wheedling, practically begging, jumping up and down on the bed and looking at you with those eyes that you just cant resist. 

"Haz, you know I hate needles. Besides, tattoos would look like shit on me and you know it." 

"I dunno." He purrs, jumping off the bed with a light thud and padding over to where you're standing. Wrapping his arms around you from behind, he sidles in close, whispering low and hot in your ear. "I think they'd be sexy. " You shiver beneath his touch as he trails a nail lightly up and over the muscles in your arm. 

"Just here. The Black would look so good against your skin. It'll make you irresistible Lou, come on." 

You really don’t know what to say to that, your brain is literally fuzzy, your skin alive and throwing sparks, a livewire that consumes your whole body.

He's standing across the room, looking at you expectantly, and you're not sure just how in the hell he does that. Tears you right down to the ground, leaving a pathetic puddle where a man used to stand, without batting an eye. He's completely unfazed, and besides the fact that he's picking at a loose hem on the sleeve of his jumper, he looks as if he's never had a care in the world. The fucker. 

Groaning loudly, and hating yourself for not having the balls to say no, you grab your coat and meet him at the door. You try to ignore his victorious smirk, but for a split second, you just kind of wanna punch him in the face for winning you over. Again. 

\---

"I am going to kill you for this, Harold, mark my words." You breathe through clenched teeth as the needle pop pop pops in a continuous rhythm beneath your skin. He merely laughs at you from the station to your right, mumbling something to the tattoo artist that you cant hear, but you think you catch the words "pansy" and "first timer" and all you can think about is how you're going to fucking throttle him the second you get out of here. 

Your ankle throbs more than it has any right too for such a small design, and you feel faintly like you've been attacked by a hoard of angry bees. You're having a particularly violent thought involving Harry and a number two pencil when  
the incessant noise of the tattoo machine finally stops and the burly artist wielding it looks down at you with an amused smirk. 

"Is it over?" You ask, cracking one eye open and sitting up, watching the man take a couple swipes at your inflamed skin with an ointment covered paper towel. 

"Yep. You're done. That wasn't so bad was it?" 

You don't even grace that with an answer, just a low growl as you slip off the table and make your way over by the front counter where Harry is paying. He looks at you with one of the most brilliant smiles you've ever seen, and despite yourself you find yourself smiling back, a real honest to god, eye crinkling smile, and you hate yourself for it. You're in pain and you want to be mad at him, dammit. 

Stepping out of the dim shop and back into the glare of the midafternoon sun, you watch his face closely. His features are a mask of calm, and when he looks over at you and grins, his dimples set themselves deeply into his cheeks. 

"So, Lou. How was it?" 

You toss him a look of disgust, but stop at the next street corner to lift your foot up and inspect the final product. There, nestled into the soft skin above your ankle bone, sits a tiny little plus mark, so dark against your tanned skin and the red jeans that you have rolled halfway up your calf. 

Harry inspects it with a look of appreciation and lifts up his own foot to show you his matching tattoo. You give your skin a final once over and silently decide that you like the new addition. It's not so much the actual ink, you can take or leave that, honestly, but you're in love with the look on Harry’s face. You're in love with the fact that you now have a permanent tie to him, this demi god with the flyaway curls. 

Harry hooks his pinkie finger through a belt loop by the shallow indention of your hip, and as you walk down the street step and step it hits you. You'd get all the tattoos in the world for him, fill every pore in your tender flesh with harsh midnight black if it will make him look at you like this forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos make me smile! Title property of the Civil Wars. Also, I don't know or own anyone or anything. Don't sue me.


End file.
